


Permutations

by Anon_omatopoeia



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Decisions, Cheating, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon_omatopoeia/pseuds/Anon_omatopoeia
Summary: A couple of SasoThird one shots.  My contribution to the OTP.
Relationships: Sandaime Kazekage | Third Kazekage/Sasori
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Restart (I of II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An old work from Tumblr for narutorarepair week, revamped a bit since it's been 6 months. Third is called San in this for simplicity's sake.

When Sasori approached the front desk for the second time that evening, he had been cool but courteous as he handed over his keys and informed the receptionist that he would be needing another room, ideally one that _didn’t_ smell like smoke.

When he approached the same desk the third time, he had managed to maintain his composure as he pushed the second set of keys across the counter and insisted that he be given a room that had actually been cleaned at some point- preferably the point after the previous occupant had left and before he had arrived- producing a picture of an open condom wrapper sitting next to the bed on his phone as evidence.

But the fourth time, the _fourth_ time he found himself standing at the front desk, he had been furious. The last remnants of his patience had been decimated by the loud and rhythmic fornication of his new neighbors, banging furiously against their shared wall seemingly to spite him, a total stranger. He tossed the keys onto the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest and glaring expectantly at the receptionist who visibly flinched.

“You’re back again,” the man said weakly, trying his best to force a nervous smile under Sasori’s nearly palpable anger. “I-is something wrong, Mr. Akasuna?”

“Obviously,” the calm in his voice somehow made the murderous look in his eyes all the more unsettling. “I would like to speak to your manager.”

“The manager?” the receptionist nearly squeaked in disbelief. “Of course! Just a moment!” the man disappeared hastily, jumping at an excuse to get out of his sight and pass the buck onto someone with a bigger paycheck.

Fifteen minutes later though, he still hadn’t returned and Sasori was _livid_. He would have just taken his things and left, but he really didn’t want to foot the bill for a canceled reservation at a four-star hotel when he clearly deserved a refund. In full. At this point, he thought, they owed him money and a complimentary upgrade. Outrageous!

His eyes scanned over a small plastic display encouraging guests to leave a review online to earn points. Oh, he would leave a review alright. Whipping out his phone he pulled up the site and began typing with righteous indignation: 0 stars.

 _Do you like paying premium prices to inhale the sweet, carcinogenic scent of cheap cigarettes? Do you like discovering treasures from a previous guest’s sexual escapades from the comfort of your own room? Do you require obnoxiously loud and uninspired moaning to lull you to sleep? Then look no further, this place will accommodate you. This hotel owes me money for wasting my time._

He was just about to hit ‘submit’, when a smooth voice interrupted him.

“Excuse me, what seems to be the problem?”

A painfully familiar voice. 

His head snapped up and sharp amber eyes regarded him coolly. 

“I understand you’ve encountered some problems with one of our rooms-“

“Three,” Sasori interjected, holding up three fingers for emphasis and trying to suppress his shock at encountering this man, here, after so many years...

“How unfortunate,” the manager replied steadily, eyes shifting to three the fingers held up before him before focusing back on Sasori’s face. “My apologies. Please accept a complementary upgrade to one of our suites.” Every word that came out of his mouth was said with the utmost politeness. 

The kind you use when dealing with someone difficult. The kind you use when you can’t say what you actually want to because you’re a decent person or at the very least, you have a job to do. 

Sasori imagined that this man had a lot of these words for him, current predicament aside. 

And suddenly, Sasori felt very foolish to be standing in front of _him_ , the embodiment of composure and restraint, complaining about something so trivial as noisy neighbors and incompetent housekeeping. He was struck with the impulse to leave.

“I should go,” he said quietly. 

Short eyebrows raised at the refusal and a tight smile formed on his lips.

“Very well, then I can authorize a refund instead,” the manager replied. If _he_ had any insight into Sasori’s sudden change in mood, he didn’t show it. 

A sense of déjà vu passed over Sasori and he remembered the last time they had stood together like this, unblinking eyes boring down on him. Those eyes had been cold then, too. Everything about him had. 

His throat felt tight.

He buried his hands in his pockets and looked away, eyes catching on the large fountain in the central lobby. The sharp lines carved into the natural stone and the peaceful sounds of water spilling around it eased his nerves. Aesthetically speaking, the fixture was quite tasteful. He recognized San’s influence. 

“What are you doing here?” he said without thinking. 

The professional demeanor that San had held up until that point wavered at the blunt question and he answered curtly, “My job.”

Sasori nodded his head, still looking for solace in the bubbling lobby centerpiece. He didn’t belong here.

“Forget the refund,” it was as close to an apology as he could muster. Without looking up he turned to leave.

“Sasori.” 

Hearing his name spoken by that voice paralyzed his feet. It would be a lie to say, that he hadn’t thought about his ex since they had parted ways. That he hadn’t pictured them eventually crossing paths again on some distant, sunny day when he had his shit together. Though, in his mind he had handled their hypothetical reunion with his usual wit and poise and not, as it were, with the taste of bile in throat, struggling to finish a complete sentence. 

One last slow breath and he turned back, finally able to take in San’s full appearance. He tried to ignore how good his ex looked in his tailored blue suit, with his Italian leather shoes and the thin band of gold wrapped around his wrist. Perfect, as usual, not a hair out of place. 

“Have a drink with me." The way San said it gave Sasori the distinct impression that he was extending the invitation more for Sasori’s benefit than his own. But Sasori knew it wasn't an act of pity; San wasn't that forgiving. Nor was his suggestion a pleasant appeal to catch up on the years apart. San wasn't that sentimental, either. But Sasori felt very much that he wouldn't know what San really wanted from him until San wanted him to know. 

San sensed his hesitation. When Sasori didn’t answer him, he cocked a small half-grin, “I won’t bite.” 

A knowing look passed over his face and he started off towards a restaurant situated off of the large hotel lobby without looking back. 

Sasori tried to settle the erratic beating in his chest. How could he refuse? He caught up with quick strides, trailing slightly behind and studied the figure ahead of him wearily. 

San hadn’t changed much over the last five years. He still carried himself in the same confident manner, posture straight but not rigid; movements graceful but not flashy. He kept his hair in the same style, though the knot on top of his head looked thicker now. Sasori wondered how long it was; if it would fall past his shoulder blades when he took it down. 

And San still greeted each employee with a nod and a quick smile, passing the hostess, the busboy, then a waiter as he lead Sasori to a dimly lit bar, past wood slated partitions and embroidered silk tapestries. Sasori studied the décor with a critical eye. Even the lush potted plants were convincing; surrounded by damp, rough soil as if someone had just watered them. If it weren’t for the lack of sunlight, he would have been fooled. 

The bar was nearly empty and he snagged them a spacious corner booth. The bartender recognized him and came out to fetch them drinks immediately. San always did have a way about him that made people eager to please him. 

“Whiskey, neat and a martini,” he ordered for them both, glancing briefly over to Sasori as if expecting some sort of push back or correction. None came.

They sat in silence until the first round arrived. Sasori entertained himself by looking everywhere but at the man in front of him, fingers drumming rapidly against the edge of the table. The lighting, the floor tiles, the artwork strung on the walls, his phone- anything.

When their drinks came, Sasori intercepted his glass before it even hit the table, suppressing a grimace as he took a generous sip and making a mental note to thank the bartender later for the extra shot of gin. 

Alcohol broke the silence, if not the tension.

“How have you been?” San asked him finally, letting his jacket fall open and sipping from his own drink. The action brought Sasori’s attention to his hands and shamefully, he noted the absence of a wedding ring. He took another sip.

“Fine,” he answered shortly. 'I spent years trying to forget you' was the honest answer, but… He doubted very much that his ex wanted to hear about how _Sasori_ had regretted their breakup. No need to reopen old wounds.

“Congratulations on the acquisition.” 

San licked his lips as he eyed his whiskey, a small smile touched his mouth but went no further. “Thank you. It cost me a fortune,” his eyes flicked up to Sasori then away again.

Sasori felt his throat run dry. “You can afford it.” Another sip. He needed to slow down before he said something he would regret. There was no need to be so defensive when.

“Mmm, but I can’t have everything I want, right Sasori?” 

Sasori felt his heart drop into his stomach. The question was harmless enough, but the bitterness behind it confirmed what Sasori had already suspected. _This_ was the San he remembered. The cold, calculating one who tilted his head slightly to the side feigning oblivious while he alluded to all of the painful things that had transpired between them.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, Sasori mused, there wasn’t a lot of innocence left between them.

“It’s alright,” San continued, eyes shifting back up from the glass in his hand, “I didn’t ask you out to drink for an apology.”

“So what exactly do you want?” Sasori looked suddenly tired.

“Only what I know you like to give.” San gave him a sideways look. Even after all these years, he couldn't resist taking another jab.

“Sex.” Sasori said carefully.

“Why not? You look good and you already know what I like. Seeing as you're here now, we might as well make the best of it. We never had trouble there, did we?”

Sasori looked at him with an unreadable expression, “No, that was never the issue.”

San gave a wry smile, letting his hand slip underneath the table to brush Sasori’s thigh. In spite of himself, Sasori shuddered at the contact. This was clearly a terrible idea, but the way San was looking at him was doing things to him and Sasori already knew that he wasn’t going to say no. It was going to hurt and he was going to do it anyway. 

The hand on his thigh gave a rough squeeze and elicited a sharp intake of breath from him. San really did have a talent for touching him; Sasori he spread his legs wider, and let those fingers travel a little higher. Sasori forgot how good it felt to be wanted like this.

“I can get us a room.” 

“Then do it.”

San withdrew his hand, re-buttoning his jacket while Sasori tried to adjust his clothing to make himself look more presentable. 

On the table, his phone buzzed.

Two sets of eyes glanced down at his screen on the table.

_Hey baby, did you make it? Miss you~_

They both froze. A strange look passed over San’s face for a moment and Sasori wasn’t sure if he was going to call the whole thing off. This was a sensitive topic, after all. Or at least, it had been, once.

San just shrugged. “Well, aren’t you going to answer that?” He stood and finished his drink in one gulp, looking expectantly at Sasori to hurry it up.

He wasn't planning on it. Sasori silenced his phone and followed behind him.

They maintained a respectable distance as they walked in silence. San brought him first to a back office where he swiped an executive suite key all the while Sasori ignored the sporadic buzzing coming from his pocket as they took the service elevator all the way up to the 25th floor. 

But when they actually reached their destination and the door locked behind them, Sasori suddenly found it hard to start what he had come there to finish. He watched San out of the corner of his eye while he reconsidered what he was hoping to get out of this.

San didn’t share his reluctance. He took off his jacket, then his tie, then went to work on the buttons of his shirt as lackadaisically as if he had returned home from another day at the office, pausing only to fold each article neatly before moving on.

Sasori followed suit more slowly. When they were both half undressed, San decided that enough was enough and stepped forward, backing him into the wall and pinning him against it. It had been a very, _very_ long time since they had found themselves in this kind of position, and it sent a plethora of feelings through Sasori that he wasn't entirely prepared to confront. 

As quickly as they had rushed to get up here, now that they actually were here, Sasori just couldn't relax. San noticed.

Sasori expected him to make some derisive remark or just leave him there, alone. Given their past together, it would hardly be the worst thing either of them had ever done. But to Sasori's complete and utter surprise, San just....slowed down. 

He busied himself breathing in the scent of Sasori’s hair while Sasori acclimated to the position. It was the kindness that he hadn't expected that finally dispelled the last of his nerves. San knew he was ready when thin fingers pulled cautiously on the buckle of his belt.

Then, San kissed him. 

For a moment, the familiarity of it- the passion and the urgency- confounded him. The way they melted into each other; the faint and familiar taste of metal; the way his pulse raced when their skin brushed; it was all so _nostalgic_. He was caught between this moment and another, happier, one. 

But the lack of tenderness in the hands tearing at his pants and digging into his hips reminded him that those days were over and now they were in a hotel about to fuck. That there was no love between them. Only lust and resentment and the memory of something sweeter, long since passed. 

Out of habit or desperation, his hand reached for San’s and found it. Longer fingers interlaced with his own and stayed there. It was more than he could bear.


	2. Relapse (II of II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The follow up to Restart, picks up right where the other one left off. Also an import from Tumblr :)

An hour later and both of them were at a loss for words. 

Every single movement had a sound. 

The scratch of calloused fingers racing down his sides. 

The pillow crumpling under his neck. 

The creak of the bed frame as he braced himself against the weight rocking into him. 

All an accompaniment to the bright tones and harsh gasps that filled the room between the chaotic rush to rid him of his last article of clothing and the slow evening out of his breath after his climax has subsided.

He had expected it to be good; he hadn’t expected it to be so cathartic. But the way they handled each other… 

It didn’t feel like two bodies seeking a purely physical release. It didn’t even feel like two exes acting out their unresolved issues through a ruthless fuck. And it certainly wasn’t the gentle joining of two people who shared a deep and mutual affection.

In hindsight, he wasn’t sure exactly what they had done.

Sasori stood near the window, admiring the panoramic view of the city at dusk as small white lights began peppering the skyline. He could have finished fastening the buttons on his shirt, gathered his things, and left without a backwards glance. He lingered.

San seemed to be taking his own time. He sat on the bed slipping on socks, flexing and stretching his toes. He certainly looked in no hurry to excuse himself. 

Sasori wondered if he should leave now that they had finished what they had come there to do or if that intense wave of euphoria that had flooded his senses just fifteen minutes earlier was worth the humiliation of asking for more. 

He stole a glance out of the corner of his eye as San went to stand in front of the mirror, tie draped around his collar. Sasori watched him throw a turn, recognized the start of a half-Windsor and strangely thought that such a simple knot wouldn’t suffice. It was too... common. 

Abruptly, Sasori approached him, pushing San’s large hands to the side and replacing them with his own finer ones; better suited for the intricate knot Sasori intended. 

“I’ll do it myself,” San’s brow knit at the unsolicited assistance. 

“I’ll do it better,” Sasori retorted, fingers threading silk through quick loops and perfectly spaced folds. Back when they had lived together he had selected all of San’s clothing; a simpler time.

“I’m only going home,” he protested. 

Sasori finished the knot easily, stepping back to admire his work, “Then you can take it off when you get there.” 

Giving himself a once-over in the mirror, San nodded his approval and licked his lips, “We never resolved your issue with the room.”

Sasori had fully intended on cutting his losses earlier. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to move on just yet.

“No, we never did.” 

San adjusted the collar of his shirt, “I could…compensate you with a free stay, if you’re interested,” he grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch and pulled out a business card from his breast pocket. “Here, just try to book at least 24 hours in advance and I’ll reserve a suite for you.”

Sasori looked down at the business card, it had San’s direct line.

“You can stay here for tonight. Check out is at nine, I’ll take care of your bill.”

“….Thank you.”

***

The memory of their evening followed Sasori home the next day when he stepped through the front door of his shared apartment and into a fight. 

He sat listlessly on the couch only half-listening to passive aggressive snipes about deliberately ignoring texts (true) and jealous accusations of infidelity (also true) while his mind replayed rough kisses and gentle hands and bursts of color behind his eyelids. 

It was strange. He should have felt guilty; he had done a dirty, despicable deed and violated the terms of his relationship. Again. But he didn’t. 

Not like the last time. 

This same offense that had once, years ago, sent him spiraling downward into an alcohol-fueled bender in an attempt to numb the suffocating weight on his chest (it didn’t work) now felt emotionally on par with eating someone’s leftovers. 

That was probably why when he lied, “I just forgot my phone,” it slipped out as smoothly and naturally as if he had been playing at it for months. He didn’t even have the decency to lose any sleep over it.

***

He almost hadn’t come. 

Three weeks had passed since their accidental run in and he still hadn’t stopped thinking about it. So there he was. He was back.

Back through the same glass doors, under the same pointed archways and around the same sandstone fountain to claim his complementary stay on a rainy Friday afternoon. 

He didn’t bother to smile at the receptionist- the same man who had assigned him all three subpar rooms during his previous stay and then had left him waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour before luring him into an ambush by his ex. 

Apparently he had left something of a lasting impression himself, judging by the startled jump, quickly averted gaze and the rapid clicking of fingers over the keyboard when he approached the desk. He mentally prepared himself to deal with underwhelming service. Perhaps this time he would only have to switch rooms twice, he thought optimistically.

Instead, a pair of dark eyebrows approached a low hairline and he was hospitably addressed, “Welcome back, Mr. Akasuna,” before he even had a chance to pull up his reservation number. A vast improvement, he decided.

Sasori made no comment as he accepted the key and decided not to question the amused glint he saw in the man’s eyes as he examined the room details- the executive suite again. 

***

It was another half an hour before San arrived. 

They came together in a frenzied mess, crashing into end tables and bumping into walls in a trail starting from the doorway and ending at the bed as needy hands clawed at clothing and pulled at hair. 

Three missed calls on Sasori’s phone later found them both struggling to catch their breath, leaning back against the headboard as they gradually grew aware of the disarray that they had wrought upon the once immaculate room. 

It was impressive, in a way. Photographs hanging on wall had been knocked askew, the couch was off-center, papers and coffee filters scattered across the floor, and a crystal lamp lay on its side amongst jumbled mess of pillows and clothes. At some point, the phone had been pushed off the receiver. 

They slowly untangled themselves from the sheets and set to restore order to the space. With their mutual preference towards neat and minimally cluttered spaces, it didn’t take long. When the last of the pictures had been leveled, San asked the question that had been weighing on both of them since the first time they had ended up together. 

“So what do you want to do from here?” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaning against the bathroom door.

Sasori paused his search for his missing button down to answer him. He had already made his decision before San had stepped inside his room for round two, “I want more.” 

A single nod, “Okay.” 

***

He kept track for a while. Five, then ten, then fifteen times. After that, he stopped counting how many nights and hours he had spent under and over his ex in that hotel. Each time he came he told himself it would be the last time and each time he left he knew it wasn’t. 

It always started with a text.

1:00?

1:00 would work. A hastily replied, Yes, and then a half-assed excuse, “Sorry, I’m working on a project,” did the trick. Eventually even that was too much effort and he simply said, “I’ll be late.”

And then he would lose himself completely to skilled hands and strong hips until his vision flashed white.

Then they would barely speak another word while San rinsed off the evidence of their transgressions under hot water and sandalwood-scented soap and Sasori would scroll through the messages he had ignored on his phone while he gathered his clothes. 

They would dress and part ways with a quick exchange of “See you next time,” leaving an empty suite and a pile of linens for housekeeping to find the following day.

But there was always a next time, over and over again.

***

Winter came quickly.

They crumpled in a heap together, sweat sticking to his back and something else pooling between his legs, wetting the sheets below them. He was too tired to look. His breathing evened out before he felt the careful withdrawal and a kiss to the back of his shoulder. A gentle gesture after an otherwise rough session.

It wasn’t that he was offended that San always cleaned himself right afterwards. They weren’t exactly playing it safe and at least Sasori had some privacy while he tended to the more unsightly consequences of their joining. But when he heard the familiar static spray coming from the showerhead, a nagging weight settled over his chest.

He was half-dressed when he heard the water shut off from the other room. He was fully dressed when San emerged toweling damp locks, clothed from the waist down. 

Sasori sat, legs curled beside him in a recliner by the window, nursing a beer he raided from the minibar and watching snow fall from a wispy, gray stretch of nimbostratus. 

In keeping with their routine, he said nothing. He kept his gaze fixed on the storm outside, savoring each sip of alcohol that eased the pressure bit by hop-bitter bit. A blanket draped around his shoulders and a kiss to his temple grabbed his attention. He looked up nearly startled and watched San retrieve his own beverage before staking a seat on the ottoman in front of him.

“You looked cold,” he answered a question that Sasori hadn’t asked, opening the bottle in his hands with the ring on his middle finger and joining Sasori to watch the flurry outside.

“…I’m fine.” 

A small smile played at San’s lips, “You say that even when it’s not true.” There was almost a fondness to that statement. A welcome change of pace from the usual post-coital stoicism.

“You don’t have to take care of me.” Sasori admonished lightly, though there was no venom in it. 

“No, I don’t.” 

San licked his lips and absent-mindedly traced the rim of his drink with his thumb. The air was amicable between them. For once it was like they were just sharing space and company and not a tense silence simmering with bitterness. 

“I missed this,” San sighed heavily. 

Of course, it was temporary. Sasori knew that it was impossible to have any lasting peace between them. San would never forgive him and he knew better than to waste his breath.

“…I’m sorry.” He tried anyway. It was long overdue.

San took a long sip from his drink, closing his eyes to savor the taste. A full minute passed and he still hadn’t opened them. 

Sasori watched the snow outside fall thicker and faster and pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. A glimmer of gold shining faintly amidst the flurry caught his eye. Then another. Their eyes met in the glass. 

“I never understood why,” San started, “I thought we were happy.” Sasori heard the question. The exhaustion in San’s voice brought back the crushing feeling that the alcohol had relieved and then some. He saw it in the piercing stare that held his reflection. 

Uninhibited by the alcohol, or the sex, or San’s honesty, he tried his best at the truth. 

“Because I wanted to beat you to the punch.” 

He felt San’s sharp focus on him out of his periphery at the confession. Sasori looked up and the lack of ice or anger looking back at him, the pity… His chest felt like a vice and he couldn’t breathe. He tried his best to conceal the tremor in his hands though he was certain his drink had gone flat from it.

The aptly timed buzzing of his phone humming from across the room cut through the silence. He took a generous swig from his drink and ignored it.

San watched the phone as it buzzed its way off the edge of the coffee table and onto the floor before it finally gave up and went to voice mail.

“You’re wrong, you know. I wouldn’t have used you like that.”

Sasori finished the last of his drink. 

“You’re probably expecting me to say that I wouldn’t have done it,” he set the empty bottle aside in favor of toying with the fringe on the blanket. “That I would’ve just mustered up the inner strength and made a better decision- but that’s not it. I didn’t cheat on you because I was lonely or bored.”

There it was. Saying it out loud took none of the weight off of his chest, but he forced himself to look up at those sharp eyes and face the insecurity he saw there. He wondered if that had been his doing. 

“If I could do it all over, I would go back to the day you told me you were leaving. And I would tell you that I was terrified. That…I needed you. That somehow I knew if you got the chance to see what else was out there, how much better it would be without me, you would never come back.”

San remembered which day Sasori was referring to. He remembered the conversation, too. And he remembered Sasori’s cool eyes and the way he sipped his wine when he told him in his usual sharp, sarcastic way, ‘Don’t forget about me,’ before they had distracted themselves with something more fun and less daunting. They had barely spoken another word about it before he had flown out the following weekend. He had no idea at the time that the next time they saw each other...

“But you didn’t,” his mouth was a tight line.

“No, I didn’t.”

San leaned forward and buried his face in this hands, “And here you are, using me to do the same thing to somebody else.”

“It’s not the same,” Sasori corrected him. How could it be? Back then, when he had broken the trust between them, he hadn’t been able to sleep with the guilt, then the fear, then the regret. His mistake had cost him his relationship, his home, and their mutual friends. That didn’t even touch his struggles with depression and alcohol that followed that break up. It had changed his life irreversibly. 

Now, he couldn’t even manage to muster up the slightest guilt over seeing San at his current interest’s expense. 

San’s eyes passed over Sasori’s phone, motionless on the floor, “Someone is up worrying about you when you’re with me. I hope you don’t think I’m so naïve as to believe that you felt morally obliged to end your relations on my behalf.”

“I would if you wanted me to,” Sasori said without thinking. It was a bit too honest and he seemed as surprised to have said it as San seemed to hear it. It didn’t really make any sense, but it wasn’t any less true. 

There were no words for him. They sat in silence until Sasori felt his eyelids grow heavy. 

He thought he heard San get up and leave and he fully intended to recharge himself for just a few minutes before heading out in the snowy night. But at some point he must have lost track of the time because he became vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps returning. 

He was An hour later and both of them were at a loss for words. 

Every single movement had a sound. 

The scratch of calloused fingers racing down his sides. 

The pillow crumpling when he arched his neck. 

The creak of the bed frame as he braced himself against the weight rocking into him. 

All an accompaniment to the bright tones and harsh gasps that filled the room between the chaotic rush to rid him of his last article of clothing and the slow evening out of his breath after his climax has subsided.

He had expected it to be good; he hadn’t expected it to be so cathartic. But the way they handled each other… 

It didn’t feel like two bodies seeking a purely physical release. It didn’t even feel like two exes acting out their unresolved issues through a ruthless fuck. And it certainly wasn’t the gentle joining of two people who shared a deep and mutual affection.

In hindsight, he wasn’t sure exactly what they had done.

Sasori stood near the window, admiring the panoramic view of the city at dusk as small white lights began peppering the skyline. He could have finished fastening the buttons on his shirt, gathered his things, and left without a backwards glance. He lingered.

San seemed to be taking his own time. He sat on the bed slipping on socks, flexing and stretching his toes. He certainly looked in no hurry to excuse himself. 

Sasori wondered if he should leave now that they had finished what they had come there to do or if that intense wave of euphoria that had flooded his senses just fifteen minutes earlier was worth the humiliation of asking for more. 

He stole a glance out of the corner of his eye as San went to stand in front of the mirror, tie draped around his collar. Sasori watched him throw a turn, recognized the start of a half-Windsor and strangely thought that such a simple knot wouldn’t suffice. It was too... common. 

Abruptly, Sasori approached him, pushing San’s large hands to the side and replacing them with his own finer ones; better suited for the intricate knot Sasori intended. 

“I’ll do it myself,” San’s brow knit at the unsolicited assistance. 

“I’ll do it better,” Sasori retorted, fingers threading silk through quick loops and perfectly spaced folds. Back when they had lived together he had selected all of San’s clothing; a simpler time.

“I’m only going home,” he protested. 

Sasori finished the knot easily, stepping back to admire his work, “Then you can take it off when you get there.” 

Giving himself a once-over in the mirror, San nodded his approval and licked his lips, “We never resolved your issue with the room.”

Sasori had fully intended on cutting his losses earlier. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to move on just yet.

“No, we never did.” 

San adjusted the collar of his shirt, “I could…compensate you with a free stay, if you’re interested,” he grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch and pulled out a business card from his breast pocket. “Here, just try to book at least 24 hours in advance and I’ll reserve a suite for you.”

Sasori looked down at the business card, it had San’s direct line.

“You can stay here for tonight. Check out is at nine, I’ll take care of your bill.”

“….Thank you.”

***

The memory of their evening followed Sasori home the next day when he stepped through the front door of his shared apartment and into a fight. 

He sat listlessly on the couch only half-listening to passive aggressive snipes about deliberately ignoring texts (true) and jealous accusations of infidelity (also true) while his mind replayed rough kisses and gentle hands and bursts of color behind his eyelids. 

It was strange. He should have felt guilty; he had done a dirty, despicable deed and violated the terms of his relationship. Again. But he didn’t. 

Not like the last time. 

This same offense that had once, years ago, sent him spiraling downward into an alcohol-fueled bender in an attempt to numb the suffocating weight on his chest (it didn’t work) now felt emotionally on par with eating someone’s leftovers. 

That was probably why when he lied, “I just forgot my phone,” it slipped out as smoothly and naturally as if he had been playing at it for months. He didn’t even have the decency to lose any sleep over it.

***

He almost hadn’t come. 

Three weeks had passed since their accidental run in and he still hadn’t stopped thinking about it. So there he was. He was back.

Back through the same glass doors, under the same pointed archways and around the same sandstone fountain to claim his complementary stay on a rainy Friday afternoon. 

He didn’t bother to smile at the receptionist- the same man who had assigned him all three subpar rooms during his previous stay and then had left him waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour before luring him into an ambush by his ex. 

Apparently he had left something of a lasting impression himself, judging by the startled jump, quickly averted gaze and the rapid clicking of fingers over the keyboard when he approached the desk. He mentally prepared himself to deal with underwhelming service. Perhaps this time he would only have to switch rooms twice, he thought optimistically.

Instead, a pair of dark eyebrows approached a low hairline and he was hospitably addressed, “Welcome back, Mr. Akasuna,” before he even had a chance to pull up his reservation number. A vast improvement, he decided.

Sasori made no comment as he accepted the key and decided not to question the amused glint he saw in the man’s eyes as he examined the room details- the executive suite again. 

***

It was another half an hour before San arrived. 

They came together in a frenzied mess, crashing into end tables and bumping into walls in a trail starting from the doorway and ending at the bed as needy hands clawed at clothing and pulled at hair. 

Three missed calls on Sasori’s phone later found them both struggling to catch their breath, leaning back against the headboard as they gradually grew aware of the disarray that they had wrought upon the once immaculate room. 

It was impressive, in a way. Photographs hanging on wall had been knocked askew, the couch was off-center, papers and coffee filters scattered across the floor, and a crystal lamp lay on its side amongst jumbled mess of pillows and clothes. At some point, the phone had been pushed off the receiver. 

They slowly untangled themselves from the sheets and set to restore order to the space. With their mutual preference towards neat and minimally cluttered spaces, it didn’t take long. When the last of the pictures had been leveled, San asked the question that had been weighing on both of them since the first time they had ended up together. 

“So what do you want to do from here?” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaning against the bathroom door.

Sasori paused his search for his missing button down to answer him. He had already made his decision before San had stepped inside his room for round two, “I want more.” 

A single nod, “Okay.” 

***

He kept track for a while. Five, then ten, then fifteen times. After that, he stopped counting how many nights and hours he had spent under and over his ex in that hotel. Each time he came he told himself it would be the last time and each time he left he knew it wasn’t. 

It always started with a text.

1:00?

1:00 would work. A hastily replied, Yes, and then a half-assed excuse, “Sorry, I’m working on a project,” did the trick. Eventually even that was too much effort and he simply said, “I’ll be late.”

And then he would lose himself completely to skilled hands and strong hips until his vision flashed white.

Then they would barely speak another word while San rinsed off the evidence of their transgressions under hot water and sandalwood-scented soap and Sasori would scroll through the messages he had ignored on his phone while he gathered his clothes. 

They would dress and part ways with a quick exchange of “See you next time,” leaving an empty suite and a pile of linens for housekeeping to find the following day.

But there was always a next time, over and over again.

***

Winter came quickly.

They crumpled in a heap together, sweat sticking to his back and something else pooling between his legs, wetting the sheets below them. He was too tired to look. His breathing evened out before he felt the careful withdrawal and a kiss to the back of his shoulder. A gentle gesture after an otherwise rough session.

It wasn’t that he was offended that San always cleaned himself right afterwards. They weren’t exactly playing it safe and at least Sasori had some privacy while he tended to the more unsightly consequences of their joining. But when he heard the familiar static spray coming from the showerhead, a nagging weight settled over his chest.

He was half-dressed when he heard the water shut off from the other room. He was fully dressed when San emerged toweling damp locks, clothed from the waist down. 

Sasori sat, legs curled beside him in a recliner by the window, nursing a beer he raided from the minibar and watching snow fall from a wispy, gray stretch of nimbostratus. 

In keeping with their routine, he said nothing. He kept his gaze fixed on the storm outside, savoring each sip of alcohol that eased the pressure bit by hop-bitter bit. A blanket draped around his shoulders and a kiss to his temple grabbed his attention. He looked up nearly startled and watched San retrieve his own beverage before staking a seat on the ottoman in front of him.

“You looked cold,” he answered a question that Sasori hadn’t asked, opening the bottle in his hands with the ring on his middle finger and joining Sasori to watch the flurry outside.

“…I’m fine.” 

A small smile played at San’s lips, “You say that even when it’s not true.” There was almost a fondness to that statement. A welcome change of pace from the usual post-coital stoicism.

“You don’t have to take care of me.” Sasori admonished lightly, though there was no venom in it. 

“No, I don’t.” 

San licked his lips and absent-mindedly traced the rim of his drink with his thumb. The air was amicable between them. For once it was like they were just sharing space and company and not a tense silence simmering with bitterness. 

“I missed this,” San sighed heavily. 

Of course, it was temporary. Sasori knew that it was impossible to have any lasting peace between them. San would never forgive him and he knew better than to waste his breath.

“…I’m sorry.” He tried anyway. It was long overdue.

San took a long sip from his drink, closing his eyes to savor the taste. A full minute passed and he still hadn’t opened them. 

Sasori watched the snow outside fall thicker and faster and pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. A glimmer of gold shining faintly amidst the flurry caught his eye. Then another. Their eyes met in the glass. 

“I never understood why,” San started, “I thought we were happy.” Sasori heard the question. The exhaustion in San’s voice brought back the crushing feeling that the alcohol had relieved and then some. He saw it in the piercing stare that held his reflection. 

Uninhibited by the alcohol, or the sex, or San’s honesty, he tried his best at the truth. 

“Because I wanted to beat you to the punch.” 

He felt San’s sharp focus on him out of his periphery at the confession. Sasori looked up and the lack of ice or anger looking back at him, the pity… His chest felt like a vice and he couldn’t breathe. He tried his best to conceal the tremor in his hands though he was certain his drink had gone flat from it.

The aptly timed buzzing of his phone humming from across the room cut through the silence. He took a generous swig from his drink and ignored it.

San watched the phone as it buzzed its way off the edge of the coffee table and onto the floor before it finally gave up and went to voice mail.

“You’re wrong, you know. I wouldn’t have used you like that.”

Sasori finished the last of his drink. 

“You’re probably expecting me to say that I wouldn’t have done it,” he set the empty bottle aside in favor of toying with the fringe on the blanket. “That I would’ve just mustered up the inner strength and made a better decision- but that’s not it. I didn’t cheat on you because I was lonely or bored.”

There it was. Saying it out loud took none of the weight off of his chest, but he forced himself to look up at those sharp eyes and face the insecurity he saw there. He wondered if that had been his doing. 

“If I could do it all over, I would go back to the day you told me you were leaving. And I would tell you that I was terrified. That…I needed you. That somehow I knew if you got the chance to see what else was out there, how much better it would be without me, you would never come back.”

San remembered which day Sasori was referring to. He remembered the conversation, too. And he remembered Sasori’s cool eyes and the way he sipped his wine when he told him in his usual sharp, sarcastic way, ‘Don’t forget about me,’ before they had distracted themselves with something more fun and less daunting. They had barely spoken another word about it before he had flown out the following weekend. He had no idea at the time that the next time they saw each other...

“But you didn’t,” his mouth was a tight line.

“No, I didn’t.”

San leaned forward and buried his face in this hands, “And here you are, using me to do the same thing to somebody else.”

“It’s not the same,” Sasori corrected him. How could it be? Back then, when he had broken the trust between them, he hadn’t been able to sleep with the guilt, then the fear, then the regret. His mistake had cost him his relationship, his home, and their mutual friends. That didn’t even touch his struggles with depression and alcohol that followed that break up. It had changed his life irreversibly. 

Now, he couldn’t even manage to muster up the slightest guilt over seeing San at his current interest’s expense. 

San’s eyes passed over Sasori’s phone, motionless on the floor, “Someone is up worrying about you when you’re with me. I hope you don’t think I’m so naïve as to believe that you felt morally obliged to end your relations on my behalf.”

“I would if you wanted me to,” Sasori said without thinking. It was a bit too honest and he seemed as surprised to have said it as San seemed to hear it. It didn’t really make any sense, but it wasn’t any less true. 

There were no words for him. They sat in silence until Sasori felt his grow heavy. 

He thought he heard San get up and leave and he fully intended to recharge himself for just a few minutes before heading out in the snowy night. But at some point he must have been more exhausted than he had thought, because he barely registered the footsteps returning or the arms lifting him off the chair and tucking him into a soft, dry bed. Or the familiar, warm chest pressed up against his back. Or the heavy arm over his waist. 

Before he he slipped into unconsciousness, he was just lucid enough to question if this had all been a dream.

“Good night,” San’s tired voice rumbled in his ear.

For the first time in a long time, Sasori slept well.


End file.
